Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
“Let me guess. Mr. King’s orders?”
He nods once.
Trying and failing to keep my temper in check, I pull out my phone and dial the number titled ‘Tin Man.’
“Tell Henderson to open the damn garage door,” I say as soon as he picks up.
“Hello to you, too, Mrs. King.” The lazy amusement in his voice pisses me the hell off.
How dare he be nonchalant when my mind has been in shambles over the last week? Every time I put my head on the pillow, I think of him on the other side of the house, naked or half naked, or doing fuck knows what.
Whenever I sleep, I dream of him talking about business on the phone and being an insufferable autocrat.
There’s no such thing as out of sight, out of mind when it comes to him. If anything, it’s the exact opposite. I find myself snooping in his office as if I’ll find a secret letter or passage like in those mystery films.
Alas, all I’ve found is work and a boring office library. The house library is fun, though. Probably because I filled it up with my spicy books.
Inhaling deeply, I say, “Open the door, Eli.”
“Let Henderson drive you.”
“You mean let Henderson babysit me outside while Sam does so inside.”
“You figured that out?”
“Didn’t take much effort.”
“You’re not that daft, after all. I’m impressed.”
“What will impress you more is my heel in your face, twat. I’m your wife, not your pet. Don’t you dare try to control me or you won’t like the outcome.”
“I’d love to see you try.”
“Are you going to open the garage?”
“Not unless you let Henderson drive.”
He hangs up without an attempt at a goodbye. I curse him a thousand times with a dozen colorful names.
This bastard will send me to an early grave if I don’t control my emotions.
You know what? I’m in the mood to mess with him.
I step out of the car. “Hey, Henderson. Which one is Eli’s favorite car?”
“The pink Mercedes.”
“Be serious.”
“I’m always serious.”
I narrow my eyes. He probably sensed my plan and is trying to sabotage it. “Second favorite?”
He motions at a monster of a slick black Bugatti. Now, this one makes more sense.
With a smile, I search for the key in the display, then I slide into the driver's seat.
“Mrs. King, this is pointless as the door won’t open.”
“Well, either it opens or…” I rev the engine, slightly shivering at the force of the vibration. Jeez. This thing could be used as a sex toy.
“Miss!”
I hit the accelerator as hard as I can. My whole body flattens against the seat, and I really, really underestimated the power of this beast, because it sends me straight toward the garage door.
Yes, I meant to smash his car, but I don’t want to die in the process. I slam the brakes, but thankfully, the garage door opens.
I still hit the bumper, but it’s a win, considering I did damage his car.
The front gate also opens before I smash into it. Good. Henderson and his precious boss should know I mean business.
My breathing is more relaxed as I blast music and fly through the streets. Hello, speeding ticket.
But at least I’m alone for the first time since I woke up in the hospital. I can breathe properly without professional babysitters.
After I stop for a cup of coffee, I shoot some feeler texts in the group chats I’m in. Instantly, people fawn over me since, apparently, I haven’t been around for months.
Hi, stranger.
OMG, she’s alive.
We haven’t seen you in months, love!
What the hell? There’s no way I’d withdraw from my social circle for months. It’s that bastard Eli, isn’t it? What the hell has he been playing at these past two years?
I get invited to three gatherings, so I opt to meet my uni crew at a members-only club in Mayfair.
My phone rings, flashing ‘Tin Man.’ I hit Ignore, and since I’m feeling petty, I use his card to buy everyone at the club a round of drinks. Make that three rounds of the finest liquor they have. Also, the gentlemen get expensive cigars because, why not?
Caviar? Yes, please.
The waiter quotes me three hundred thousand quid. I tip him thirty thousand.
He tries to remain cool like all the professional peeps in exclusive clubs, but I can see the tears in his eyes.
“Are you sure, miss?”
“My husband is very generous.” I pat his hand as I place the black card in it.
“Ava!”
I turn around, beaming at the familiar face. Gemma, the one who called my name, runs toward me, her slick strawberry-blonde hair shining under the lights. She interlaces her scrawny arm with mine and digs her pointy nails into my flesh. “You look stunning.”
“So do you. Love the sparkles, Gem.”
“Aw, thanks. I thought they’d be too much.”
“Nothing is too much, sis.” I wave at our group of friends, who are sitting at the biggest table, sipping martinis I’m desperate for and wiping traces of coke from their noses.